


Interlude: First Impressions

by TenkeyLess



Series: Interludes in the First [4]
Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Ambiguous Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Emet is being an ass, Gen, I KNOW YOU'RE HERE OLD MAN, Implied pre-Sundering relationship, Light Angst, Patch 5.0: Shadowbringers Spoilers, WoL has a scent but is otherwise ambiguous
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-24
Updated: 2020-06-24
Packaged: 2021-03-04 02:33:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 926
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24896239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TenkeyLess/pseuds/TenkeyLess
Summary: When an idle prank is the first impression on the soul he longs to see, tension is sure to follow.
Relationships: Solus zos Galvus | Emet-Selch/Warrior of Light
Series: Interludes in the First [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1502459
Comments: 2
Kudos: 31





	Interlude: First Impressions

"I've got you now! Aha--aaaAAA--"  
  
The manservant's shout of victory pitches up in alarm as he slips over the heavy rope banister. His sought after handkerchief falls from flailing hands in favor of clinging to life, knuckles white as he tries and fails to lift himself to safety. Dangling in the wind of the upper canopy of Eulmore, the shift from success to mortal failure takes but an instant. And as the handkerchief returns to Emet-Selch on a thread of his aether, he snorts a chuckle at the sight.  
  
Unfolding from his comfortable perch, the Ascian ambles to his feet, stretching to the Light soaked skies like a cat saluting the sun. Gritty sea air cards through his hair, his skirts billowing with the breeze.  
  
"Paltry amusement, but I suppose it will serve for now." Emet-Selch meanders along the wooden walkway where he scrapes such meager entertainment between naps, crumpling the handkerchief in a careless fist as he makes his way to the aetheryte plaza. Leading the man on his ill-fated chase kept _boredom_ from drowning him in its grey fog for the morning, but he'll need _something_ to fill his afternoon. Vauthry's indolent citizens are discouragingly _dull_ , even given their predilection towards the debauched. Perhaps a new arrival will produce better entertainment than the doomed servant behind him, the man's cries for help stolen by the ocean breeze.  
  
Shoulders bowed in unquenchable burden, Emet-Selch blinks in delighted surprise as one of the newly bonded appears before him as though summoned by his wish.  
  
"Ah, you there--"  
  
Their eyes widen, and they dash for something behind him before further instruction can be delivered. Irritation sparks as they bump his side hard enough to spin him a step back, careless in their haste. How dare they--  
  
But--  
  
_No--_  
  
Capricious wind carries their scent to Emet-Selch as they reach the servant in peril, the man barely managing to cling to the railing. Under the rank stench of rose perfume that the immigration bureau douses new arrivals in--  
  
Cinnamon and cedar. _Their_ scent, that unique blend that calls yearning into his throat like bile bubbling high.  
  
With a moment of barest hesitation, he looks to them deliberately as they haul the servant over the bannister to safety. Flesh and figure fade away as his vision sharpens in on the aetheric.  
  
A comet of bluest blue awaits his Sight, corona of their soul burning bright on the canvas of faded hues around them. Their body's aether mingles seamlessly with their soul. The brightness alone gives them away as a fragment many times rejoined--but how could a body from the Source, with soul intact, be here on the First?  
  
Emet-Selch clings to the academic question before him, _refusing_ to identify that soul.  
  
(He knows them).   
  
The puzzle of _how_ consumes his faculties as he spins through a dizzying array of speculation.  
  
(He will _always_ know them).  
  
They converse with the servant, reassurance clear on their face as Emet-Selch returns his vision to the mundane.  
  
"...She must mean much to you."  
  
"Oh the world for my mistress!"  
  
Scraps of conversation reach him on the wind, their voice calm as though they habitually rescue hapless persons on the regular. They converse a moment more, the manservant straightening up with a distraught frown as he looks back to the covered canopy. Tense as though he means to sprint away, his rescuer holds out a hand to stay him, turning back to Emet-Selch with an unreadable expression. They stride towards him, and Emet-Selch swallows down the lump in his throat.  
  
"Come back to apologize have you? Or do you make a habit of offending your betters." He snarks, acerbic tone doing naught to slow their approach. "What-- _who_ are you."  
  
They stop before him, meeting his gaze with unfaltering focus, and Emet-Selch flinches deep within as old hurts make themselves known. They break the tense moment, eyes flicking to the fist at his side. Leaning forward, they claim his unresisting hand, cradling it gently between theirs.  
  
"No one of consequence." They say, so softly he cranes forward to hear them. Cupping his gloved hand in one of theirs, the other begins to pull his fingers flat, opening his fist.  
  
"I would have your name." He flails, reaching for surety in well-worn arrogance. Unease tightens his skin at the echo of the past standing before him. Being weighed by this specter in silent judgement is not a feeling he cares for.  
  
They continue prising his fist apart, head bent to focus on their task. Frowning in a fit of pique he closes his fist, undoing their work, but not before they seize the handkerchief he's been holding. They dance backward, cloth held triumphant. The diminutive square snaps back and forth in the breeze, a small flag of victory.  
  
"You can call me 'get swivved' for all I care, as that’s the sum of my regard for you. I _despise_ those who stand by when there's a soul in need." They spit accusingly.  
  
Stunned, nostalgia choking him with its ghostly hands, Emet-Selch can only stare as they return the handkerchief to the blubbering manservant. They send him on his way with his cloth prize, pausing to cast a venomous glare over their shoulder before they make to follow him back to the aetheryte plaza. Stuttering shock gives way to smouldering ire, and Emet-Selch stalks after them. He's _not done_ with them just yet. 

(He will _never_ be done with them).

A terrible smile lights his face as his afternoon suddenly looks less bereft of entertainment.

**Author's Note:**

> Here I am playing through Shadowbringers on an alt so I can, in theory, join some friends for content on another data center.  
> BUT FEELINGS  
> JUST THE SOUNDTRACKS ARE ENOUGH  
> So I'm stuck at the first visit to Eulmore xD Itchy, _knowing_ Emet-Selch is around here somewhere. COME OUT OLD MAN, I KNOW YOU'RE WATCHING
> 
> (Please look forward to additional ideas as they crop up and become obstacles to me actually moving on with MSQ) <3
> 
> Thanks as always to the [Bookclub discord](https://discord.gg/PvbG45u) for their infectious enthusiasm <3


End file.
